It was an exquisite moment to me. The woman showed her pleasure as frankly as a happy child. I had touched the keynote of her character as I had that of Adah Yocomb's a few hours before, and in her supreme individuality Emily Warren stood revealed before me in the garden.
She probably saw more admiration in my face than she liked, for her manner changed suddenly.
"Being honest doesn't mean being made of glass," she said brusquely; "you don't know anything about me, Mr. Morton. You have simply discovered that I have not a leaning toward prevarication. That's all your fine words amount to. Since I must keep up a reputation for telling the truth, I'm obliged to say that you don't remind me of Adam very much."
"No, I probably remind you of a night editor, ambitious to be smart in print."
She bit her lip, colored a little. "I wasn't thinking of you in that light just then," she said. "And—and Adam is not my ideal man."
"In what light did you see me?"
"It is growing dusky, and I won't be able to see you at all soon."
"That's evasion."
"Come, Mr. Morton, I hope you do not propose to keep up Eden customs indefinitely. It's time we returned to the world to which we belong."
"Zillah!" called Mrs. Yocomb, and we saw her coming down the garden walk.